SLAM!
by Ditsyjo
Summary: an old "friend" thinks Neal should pay a price for stealing from him... Complete!


"I saw that look, you have a history with Hoffman." Peter studied his CI's reaction to the latest undercover assignment he had been given. "How bad is it? Is he going to try to kill you on sight?"

"I may have hypothetically stolen a renaissance manuscript from him a few years ago."

"So he is going to try to kill you…"

"No." Neal shook his head "he's smarter than that… he needs someone good to get what he wants and he knows I'm the best." The young man's eyes darkened slightly "there will be a price to pay for stealing from him but it won't be fatal."

"Are you sure about that."

"Yeah" his voice was soft then more confidently he continued "Yeah I'm sure, he'll have his goons rough me up a little then he'll be ready to talk business."

Peter sighed "you know you don't have to take this assignment if you don't want to."

"If I don't who will." Neal grinned "I'm the only one here with the reputation to be able to pull this job… reputation is everything, you know."

"I don't like sending you into a situation knowing you are going to be hurt… that's it I'm pulling this one."

"NO!" Blue eyes met his as the younger man's jaw set stubbornly "Peter, Hoffman is perfectly fine with hurting people… killing people to get what he wants. We have a chance to stop him… I can handle a few bruised ribs to bring him down."

"Ok, if you're sure but we are moving in deal or not the moment it sounds like more than that, alright?

"Yeah I'm fine with that."

)()()()()()()()()()()()()(

"Wait guys… Jeff you want me able to do the job, right? There's got to be another way for me to pay my debt. " Neal's almost panicked voice filtered through the speakers. Peter tensed motioning silently for his team to get ready to move. The atmosphere in the van seemed to have lost 30 degrees…

"Yes, Neal I want you to be able to do the job… but first I'm going to let my boys teach you a lesson in respecting other people's property you will not soon forget." The voice broke off in a chuckle "this is going to hurt a little bit Neal, but you know what they say 'what doesn't kill you…" a sharp thump mixed with a strangled cry echoing in the suddenly dead quiet van. Again and again and again… the agonizing sounds seemed to go on forever. Peter bit his lip. Neal's warning this would happen didn't make it any easier to listen to… though really the impacts sounded to solid for fists on flesh… was that sickening crunch the sound of a bone breaking?

"That's it we are moving in…"

Silence fell… the horrific thudding stopped… five seconds… ten… twenty… the team was rapidly suiting up

"Ok…" It was barely more than a choked whisper "I paid to play… what's the job?" vaguely Peter heard Jones swear, something about he's still going to pull it off. Everyone's whole attention was riveted to the speaker… waiting for the take down phrase… "I can do that for you Jeff." Peter released the breath he didn't realize he was holding and waved his team to follow as he surged out of the vehicle.

)()()()()()()()()()()()()()()

Jeffrey Hoffman surrendered rather anti-climatically. Seven guns pointed his way and he quietly raised his hands and dropped to his knees with small growl of defeat. He and his two hired muscle types were cuffed and Mirandized in a matter of seconds… Peter's gaze darted around the parking structure worriedly. Neal was nowhere in sight.

"Sir!" a young agent standing near a support pillar, waved him over "you better get over here!" His heart dropped violently in to his stomach. The panicked edge in the kid's voice told him he would not like what he was going to find.

Neal curled against the pillar as though his legs had simply dropped him there. His knees pulled up almost to his chest and his arms tucked around his body, the young man's head leaned back against the support, his eyes open but glassy with pain. Every line of his face was taut, his lips a thin colorless line… every muscle rigid with unseen agony…

"Neal?" Peter spoke gently as if soothing a frightened horse. Barely focused eyes came up to meet his as he carefully crouched down beside his friend "Are you ok? Where are you hurt?" the lips parted… moved but no sound came out. Neal swallowed harshly and shifted… letting his legs slide down in front of him. Peter choked… "We need a bus in here!" he called over his shoulder unable to tear his eyes off Neal's arm… his right arm, cradled against his chest by his left hand… his sleeve rolled up to reveal the limb, misshapen and black from just below the elbow to the finger tips… a ragged tear at the wrist allowed jagged white bone to peak out and blood to run over the mottled skin, soaking his pale blue shirt sleeve and dripping onto his grey pants. "What happened?" he managed to ask

"Car… d-door…" Neal's voice broke in an almost sob as a tear escaped and slid silently down his cheek. Peter looked over his shoulder at the bright red Mustang with its door slightly open … blood splattered the door just above the handle. His stomach lurched… those thuds… so many of them… how many times had they slammed his arm in the door… how many fractures did it add up too.

"It's going to be, alright. You're going to be ok…" he was almost certain that was a lie… that kind of crushing damage, might never be repaired. He slid down the pillar beside his friend "I'm sorry."

"I… know…" Neal gasped around the mind numbing pain. He looked at his arm and gagged. Leaning back against the pillar he closed his eyes and set his jaw trying to keep his breathing even. Another tear escaped him, then another.

"It's going to be ok, they'll have it set and healing in no time." Neal nodded but didn't answer…

After what seemed an eternity he said "told you… he wouldn't…"the young man swallowed "wouldn't …kill me…"

"Yeah … you did."

"Almost … wish… he had."

)()()()()()()()()()()()(

Sitting in the emergency room cubical beside his heavily drugged friend, Peter sighed. He didn't need to see the X-ray displayed on the light box to know the damage was horrifying. The doctors had talked about crush injuries and muscular skeletal damage, multiple fractures and nerve damage. Then came the words "we will do everything we can to save his arm…"it played over and over in his mind. Even dosed heavily with painkillers and sedatives Neal had flinched at that and neither man asked what the chances of regaining full use of the limb were. After the flurry of activity when they first arrived… assessing, stabilizing and prepping for surgery, the room was quiet. They were waiting now, waiting for the first available operating room, the nurse told them to pin and screw the bone back together.

Neal hummed softly to himself, gaze glassy and distant but at least he wasn't in gut wrenching agony anymore and a large portion of the fear had faded from his expression. Peter's eyes strayed involuntarily to the crushed arm, flinching at the blood still seeping through the heavy bandage at the wrist and the twisted appendage. It looked even worse now than it had at the scene.

"I like to paint…" the voice was soft and almost singsong but the underlying sorrow ripped at his heart. "and draw… and play the piano…"

"I know you do."

"I'm not going to do those things ever again, am I?" he sounded like a child who lost their best friend as blue eyes surveyed his immobilized limb mournfully.

"I don't know." No reason to lie to him Peter reasoned painfully "we'll have to see how things are after it heals" there was also no reason to remind him he might not have an arm at all in a few hours. "Just try to relax… and… well hope for the best."

"I'm trying" the young man smiled "at least it doesn't hurt anymore." The humming started again. Peter thought he recognized the tune to luck be a lady tonight. Peter stifled the sigh… they needed more than luck tonight. He stood and dropped his hand on his friend's head softly. "You got him, right?" Neal's gaze rose to look him in the eye

"What?"

"Hoffman… he had the book and you heard him ask me to... acquire the second… you got him right?"

"Yeah… for all of that and aggravated assault."

"At's good…" his smile widened but his eyes drooped

"Go to sleep. They'll be coming for you soon."

"Yeah…" the humming resumed but the blue eyes drifted closed. Peter settled back in the chair and closed his eyes to block out the sight of the crushed limb. A light knock not ten minutes later jerked them open. The young nurse smiled at him and gestured to Neal.

"The surgeon is ready for him now." With a nod of thanks Peter moved out of the way and strode toward the waiting room as though he had a purpose, but once he stepped through the doors he deflated at the sight of his team… watching him expectantly.

"They're trying to save his arm" was all he managed before he sank wearily into a chair beside Diana.

)()()()()()()()()()()()(

Lucky… that was the verdict. Neal was incredibly lucky, the doctor declared as he inspected the long incision on his fore arm, before changing the dressing and adjusting the splint. He quickly rewrapped the limb and smiled tightly. It had taken hours of surgery and two days of intravenous antibiotics but they had after all saved the arm.

"Doctor…" he had sounded so uncertain

"Yes Mr. Caffrey?'

"Does that mean my arm will recover?'

"Honestly…' the man sighed gently "It is too soon to tell. The damage is extensive but we were able to save most of the muscle, it doesn't appear you will need a bone graft at this point, and most of the nerves are intact… While I doubt that a full recovery of fine motor skills is possible I am hopeful that you will regain enough movement and dexterity to be functional."

"Functional?" Neal blanched slightly "thank you." He would have to learn to live with functional.

Now walking back into Neal's apartment Peter watched his friend's carefully blank expression as the Neal wandered around the room… picking up a pencil here, a paintbrush there… brushing his left fingers over the half -finished painting on the easel, without a sound. Peter knew he would have to learn to live with the regret that he had let the younger man walk into that parking structure… that he hadn't moved in immediately when he heard the panicked edge in Neal's voice.

"Are you sure you are going to be ok here alone?"

"Of course. I'm fine Peter" he grinned stiffly

"Neal…"

The young man's grin faded "ok maybe I'm not entirely fine, but I will be."

Peter watched him for a long moment. Finally he sighed in resignation. "If you need anything…"

"I'll be ok."

"Anything at all…" the agent continued "don't hesitate to call. Promise?"

"I promise to call you at three am if I need you." Neal managed a weak taunt. Peter didn't take the bait.

"Good" he lay his hand on the young man's shoulder "Now get some rest." He got a nod in answer… Neal was staring vacantly at the unfinished painting. It was a beautiful piece Peter thought… an original as far as he could tell, and it would most likely never be finished. "Neal? I'm sorry"

"I know… it's not your fault… you offered me an out. I decided to go ahead." He tore his eyes off the painting to study his splinted arm and fingers. For a moment his grief shone in his blue eyes then the blank expression settled back in place. "I'll be fine" with that he turned his back on his friend.

Peter sighed again and walked out, closing the door softly. Walking slowly, reluctantly down the stairs he heard something crash violently to the floor of the apartment above. Turning on his heel he started back up the stairs but a firm gentle hand on his arm stopped him.

"June…"

"He needs some time…" She smiled sadly "I'll look after him." Peter nodded

"Thank you." With one last worried look up the stairs as something shattered he turned to go. At the door he hesitated "He says he'll be fine but…"

"He will be Peter… in time."

)()()()()()()()()()()()(

Neal ran his fingers lightly over the long thin scar on his forearm absently, Peter flinched. The gesture had become a habit, when he was thinking, in the last few months but, somehow that did not ease the guilt every time he did it. In this moment it seemed to surge into his throat with ten times its normal strength. The younger man stood in front of a blank canvas for the first time in eight months, flexing his fingers, preparing… bracing himself for the test.

The fractures had long healed, the muscles had been rebuilt by surgery and long months of therapy… Neal could write legibly, button his shirts, tie his tie and catch his rubber band ball, the arm was functional… but Neal would never be content with functional and they both knew it. Without his art Neal would never be the same… would never be happy, so today was the ultimate test. The beginning of a new self-imposed therapy…

The fingers of his left hand ran nervously back and forth over the thin pink line, as he encouraged himself to take the first step… Peter watched him close his eyes, clench his shaking hands, draw a deep breath and release it slowly. Slim fingers slowly grasped the brush and touched it to the palette.

"Remember this a first try…" the older man said softly "it may take a little while to get back in practice."

"I know." He swallowed and blinked away the tears that tried to come. "I'm not going to try anything complicated… and my expectations are suitably low. " Neal grinned weakly "now sit still" the brush touched the canvas

"You're telling me to sit still… the king of perpetual motion is telling me to sit still?" Peter frowned slightly but his tone was amused "why did you want to start with me anyway?"

"You have a simple face." Neal's smile turned too innocent

"Thanks…" Peter rolled his eyes "nice to know your opinion of me." But he couldn't quite contain the smile that tipped his lips up slightly.

"I meant the angles and shape… I don't know what you are talking about?" the comfortable teasing continued but Peter felt the distinct presence of lingering fear and a hint of despair waiting in the wings to pounce… the minutes ticked by…

Neal sighed and stepped back from the easel… he studied the painting silently, the brush hanging limp in his hand. Peter stood up and walked slowly around the painting.

He dropped his hand encouragingly on his friend's shoulder.

"It's far from my best work…" the young man shook his head, then broke into a broad grin "but it's not too bad for the first time…"

"Not too bad at all…" Peter beamed at the impressionistic portrait of himself…

 **THE END**


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